11/22/2006

杜鵑花的顏色

















一剎那, 就在我擁抱杜鵑花走進來的一剎那
身後的一切變得模糊
當下, 當下杜鵑花嬌嫩欲滴的紫紅色
是我的顏色

當然, 當然我可以把目光投送到花的背後
細看陽光中的微塵
又或者為這一朶飄零在我腳下的花賦詩
可是, 可是我何嘗不是過客
無家可歸, 沒有花瓶
我只能把花夾入什麼也不肯定,
那兒也不能到的書頁。
儘管如此, 儘管如此,
我竟披着一身出奇不意的顏色
現身於許多國家。

我何曾, 我何曾挑選過顏色,
我只不過, 我只不過在不斷變幻的季節
被無常的色彩選中。
我從一個國家等待一個季節
從另一個港灣等待另一陣風。

結果, 結果沒有一個港灣
是永恆的港灣, 沒有一個家是真正的家
只有, 只有眼睛
不停搜索生命的色彩
直到每一種色彩都受雨水洗禮
化身為另一種顏色。

我的雙手棒滿着燦爛的色彩
夾雜着曾經擁有過的紅唇與髮絲
我抓緊它, 又把它潑出去
揮灑在偏遠的離島上,
在那兒我攤開一幅宣紙
只是, 只是它顏色己褪,
全因為霧, 全因為霧鎖着不可踰越的海洋。

我也曾嘗試, 也曾嘗試過跨越海洋
曾經坐過飛機
也搭過蔚藍的信箋。
可是, 可是更多時候我趁上的只是一本詩
詩頁裡的一瓣花, 或者一片葉
而色彩, 色彩它早巳鉛華盡退。

我的心, 我的心到處流浪
像杜鵑花
沒有國藉, 沒有身份。
一忽兒, 一忽兒以一種色彩
被人棒在掌心
一剎那, 一剎那以另一種顏色
被人踩在脚下。

擁抱我, 擁抱我吧 !
擁抱我珍惜當下
擁抱杜鵑花
的一剎那 !

November 23, 2006 翻譯自英文原詩
Colors of the Azaleas, 紐約1992

(圖: 家裡的杜鵑花)

11/21/2006

回到當初 Returning to the Beginning

Mr. & Mrs. Ho with Stephanie in April 2007













...
Wild Camelia -
My elementary school teacher Mr. Ho took me to the hillside to pick flowers when I was a child.

(See English translation below)


(給何湞顯老師)

三馬路的山茶花開了又落
落了又開
数十年來冷眼
看君乘駟馬我披簑
數花開花落
還看當初

自甘與遍野蔓草相依
紅塵盡染的蘭
報歲嵗年年難捨難離
挑燈備課車上假寐
落入一杯酒裡
桃李春風

吹拂四季蘭開
從一個家飄落另一個家,
年年難過又過, 處處無家為家,
吹皺魚池邊上大隱朝市
蘭竹居暗香清遠
未曾自矜

親手送出手栽的花
從一雙手交到另一雙手
托付給不回眸的天空
去國離家…… 一掬抱負
兩行熱淚, 追逐五湖四海的浪花
漸行漸遠

沒入暮靄蒼茫的虛空
溯本追源....
直至天邊鴻濛一點虛白
透見從前....
回到當初, 回到當初三馬路上
那朶不栽而栽, 不教而教,
不顯眼的山茶花



2006 年11月22日, 香港
(小時候常和老師上山採山茶花)

(圖: 山上的山茶花)


Returing to the beginning

(To my elementary school teacher Mr. C.H. Ho)

The camelia by the curb
wilted and bloosomed
Forty years with quiet eyes
To watch others climbing high
And you remain low
To accompany the first flower
while numerous flowers
passed.

The orhid mixes with weeds
enjoys dusts
in the home of wilderness
Annoucing the departure of years
Grading papers at nights
And naps on buses
While plum flowers fall onto a cup of wine
in the breeze

Orchids are awaken in four seasons
turning from one home to another
never a home of its own.
Every year is difficult
Never bother a hermit
lives in metropoli by the fish pond
While fragrance drifted from
orchid and bamboo

Handing out flowers compassionately
one hand to another
a bouquet delivered to the world
never look back.
Away from the motherland
With good wishes to serve
Further and further
With tears pour
Into the four continents and five seas

In the mist a dim light emerged
Beyond the existence of celestial
going back to the origin
A flower by the curb
teaching without word
growing unknowingly
A humble camelia
at the very beginning

(I always picked wild camelia with my elementary school teacher Mr. Ho as a child)

Translated April 10, 2007

11/18/2006

Patchwork

(For my grandma and mother)

I pick up my grandma’s thread
To continue her patchwork
With the stitches of forever changing colors
In the always passing seasons
Falling into the never ending rains.

I want to stitch a simple flower
Sitting in a quiet corner
To hold the hands of my grandma
Without her having to shed a tear.

Grandma,
I am coming back
From a cloud
Full of fantasies and desires.
Grandma,
They are not important.
Look !
My hands are empty.
They are good at catching the silly rains
Falling in wrong seasons
Confused
By air pollution
And global disturbance of greenhouse effect.
Grandma,
Where a re you going to put me and my silly rains
On your patchwork ?

Grandma,
We have traveled the longest distance
To arrive at the beginning,
When ma wrote me,
"Grandma thought she was dying on her way to the emergency in the ambulance,
She said,dig out my saving inside the pillow to buy her a golden ring."
Grandma,
My tears are like the falling rains.
I do not need a golden ring
Neither from your blessing
Nor from the promise of a rose garden.

Grandma,
Look !
My hands are empty.
They are holding the silly rains
Which reflect the lost souls
Of the distorted children
Always success
For wrong reasons.
Grandma,
We have been working hard
To climb social ladder too busy to touch the hearts.
Grandma,
We are the generation of
Pollution in the heads,
Our hearts are the handicaps.

Grandma,
I am now stitching a cloud
Flying home on P.A. 747
Dropping a promotion and a double pay
Like the falling rains.

2.
I pick up my grandma’s thread
To continue her patchwork
With the stitches of the forever changing colors
In the always passing seasons
Falling into the never ending rains.

I want to stitch a beautiful flower
Standing up in a forgotten corner
To comfort my mother
Without her having to worry about our separated paths.

Ma,
I am leaving
For the distant land
Filled with rains and rainbows like ours.
Ma,
It is a lonely journey.
Look !
My hands are full.
They are good at sowing seeds in the strange land and the deserted soil,
Pampered
By the rain watcher
And the sprout sitter
Who just want to see beautiful flowers.
Ma,
Where are you going to put me and my flowers
On the patchwork ?

Ma,
We end up on the other side of the universe
By taking the first step from home.
When pa wrote,
"Your ma is upset, you are writing and speaking another language. She said, tell her don’t marry a foreigner."
Ma,
My tears are like the falling rains.
What are languages ?
We are just babbling
In the acid rains.
Why don’t you listen to the tone
Which has no consciousness
Except feeling.

Ma,
Look !
My hands are full
Of flowers transplanted to the foreign land
And turned into a new breed of world wonder.
Ma,
We are the children
With no identity.
Ma,
We are the generation of homelessness
Trying to believe homelessness is itself a modern home.

Ma,
I am now stitching a bamboo bush
Standing next to the dogwoods shoulder to shoulder
In the falling rains.


Oct. 13, 1990
Stony Brook, New York

Embrace

(For my father)

A father and a son on Long Island
hug in April by the pond,
The giggles embrace the taste
of the duck food they taste.

The father is the shadow of my father
half blind
who used to walk me to the ferry
20,000 miles away in Hong Kong.
The son is the shadow of my arms
hungry for a father's arms.

After 30 years of cultural mmalnutrition
in arms embracing arms,
My father woke one night from
the brink of blindness
from glaucoma and cataract.

Sleepless,
Until one eye was forever gone,
The other one didn't has long to stay.
He moaned,
What can I do ?

We begun to walk
arm in arm
to every answer
of every hospital,
We cannot guarantee !

We walked half a year
every other day
to ten different hospitals
until a doctor said,
Yes, let's operate.

Now, my father has one bright eye
shines with cheers and teers,
He loves to walk with me arm in arm.

I asked him,
Where do you want to go ?
He smiled,
Just want to walk with you.


April 21, 1991
Stony Brook, New York

11/03/2006

留白

在煙雲過眼中
我們留白
留出一望無垠的天空
瀟灑放手

眼眸與眼眸
相對無言
你的長髮如潑墨
渲染出眼前的紅樹林

兀立於窗外的海灣
灣外的沙丘 - 樹與樹
煙雨相忘,只餘下顧影自憐,
卻根纏上了根

寥然寂靜, 煙霧迷濛,
沒有浪打浪的聲音,
我沿着門外的紅樹林
走向出岫的雲


2006/10/17 Hong Kong
(紅樹林 - 長在淺海邊)

Beginning of a Camellia



(To my teacher, Mr. Ho, Jing Hin)

Camellias in the mountain wilted and blossomed,
Blossomed and wilted are the long years

Of quiet eyes
Looking at the horses you ride.
I wear a poncho in the downpour,
Looking for the flower

At the very beginning.

Announcing arrival of years, my orchid
Filled with dusts,
Loyal companion of leaves of grass,
Unable to let go
Preparation of classes in midnight,
Naps in commute due to lack of sleep.
Toasted plum flowers in the breeze

To blow open the seasons
Taveling from place to place,
Turbulent years one after another, finally passed.
Everywhere is a home of no home,
A hermit living in metropolis by a fish pond
Lingering with fragrance in the house of orchids,

Translucent and pure, never boasts


About the bouquet handed out personally
From one hand to another,
To the sky of no return
Departed from the homeland,
Dreams in one hand, tears in two eyes,
Chasing after the waves in four continents and five oceans
Drifted away .....

Buried in emptiness of fog,

Sails to the roots,
Towards the sublime in the celestial,
Revealing glimpses of the past,
Right back to the first lesson,
Nurtured by not nurturing,
Teaching by not teaching,
With a camellia in the mountain,
At the very beginning.

December 19, 2006, Hong Kong
( translated from the original Chinese poem
回到當初, November 20, 2006, Hong Kong )